Something To Realize Is
by A Bean
Summary: Alexander's friends talk him into getting drunk. George Washington takes him back to his tent and Alex won't shut up. It's good to know that a drunk Alexander is just as talkative as the sober one. Posted on AO3 under the same name for a friend. Oneshot.


George Washington entered his tent, expecting to hear the unceasing scratch of quill against paper as Alexander worked incessantly.

Instead, he got silence and an empty chair where Hamilton usually sat. The quill hadn't even been put in the inkwell, showing that Hamilton had either been in a rush or he just hadn't cared. If the latter was true, he was probably trying to blatantly disrespect the General.

He worried slightly about what he could have done to lose Hamilton's respect. He went over and picked up the quill and put it in its proper place, then heard, to his astonishment, Alexander's voice coming very loudly from the tent next to the General's.

 _"JOHN LAURENS IN THE PLACE TO BE, RIGHT HERE!"_ He yelled. He sounded drunk, his words slurring together, but it was definitely Alexander's voice.

George sighed and put his jacket back on, preparing to go retrieve him. With Alexander being that loud, he'd wake the whole camp.

He ignored the shouts that had ensued after Hamilton had shouted at Laurens ( _"GOT TWO PINTS 'A SAM ADAM'S BUT I'M WORKIN' THREE!")_

The tent looked well lit inside, and shadows showing more than one person inside danced on the walls. George hesitated to go in, but the wind was cold and biting. His jacket wasn't offering much warmth, so he pulled back the flap and went inside.

They were singing, Alexander and Laurens and the Marquis and Mulligan were all singing. The rest of his men were providing what could only be called a beat for them, and as George looked around, he saw Aaron Burr sitting at a table alone, watching them. He moved towards Burr and sat down with him. Nobody had noticed as of yet.

"Burr," Washington said quietly. The man turned and blanched when he saw the General.

"S-sir," he said. "I- we- the men- Alexander-"

"Hush, Burr, it's okay. I came for Alexander."

"He's... uh, busy, your Excellency," Burr said into his cup. It was still full and George got the impression he didn't like to drink.

"I see that," George said amusedly, watching the Marquis stand on the table and declare his hatred for the king.

 _"Oui, oui, mon ami, Je'mapelle Lafayette!_ The Lancelot of the Revolutionary Set! I came from afar just to say _bonsoir!_ Tell the King _"casse toi!"_ Who is the best? _C'est moi!"_

He fell off the table and onto the ground. Obviously the ones making all the racket were drunk as hell, and Washington didn't usually use that sort of language, but in the atmosphere of familiarity he did.

Lafayette didn't move. He was laughing silently at something, and muttering French words under his breath rapidly. Washington his his smirk. Lafayette still had lots of English to learn and his accent was thick.

"Herc... Herc, you go," Alexander was pushing his friend to get up and prove he had talent as Lafayette did. "C'mooonnn," he whined. Washington was surprised that Alexander could sound something less than formal, as the boy had never done it with him. He was drunk off the roof as well.

"Fine," Hercules Mulligan said, taking one more swig of drink, then setting it down.

"I am Hercules Mulligan, up in it, lovin' it, yeah, I heard your mother say _come again!"_

His voice had risen an octave higher and he paused as the whole tent roared in a simultaneous "Ohhh!"

"Ha! Lock up ya daughters an' horses, 's hard to have intercourse over four sets 'a corsets!" George's eyes widened- how did Hercules know that?

Lafayette let out a tiny 'wow' but nobody paid attention, already having moved onto Laurens.

Laurens laughed, raising his refilled glass. "Ha! No more sex, pour me another brew, son! Let's raise a couple more-"

He waited for the rest of them to lift their glasses, and George watched as Burr reluctantly picked up his.

 **"TO THE REVOLUTION!"**

The shout came louder than George had expected. Everyone, including Burr and Hamilton, had shouted with Laurens, and the result was loud enough to break his ear drums. It seemed everyone knew what to toast to without anyone having to say. It was odd, watching, as usually when his men knew he was around, George was the one toasted to. It was like watching something from behind a glass- so familiar but so different.

He was stil impressed- his men really had bonded with each other. He'd just assumed they'd stayed away from being in large groups, only talking with their friends. Apparently not.

Burr laughed, and George thought maybe his assumption about Burr not liking to drink was wrong, as he did sway a bit. Maybe that had been his fifth glass he'd just downed to Laurens' toast.

While he thought, Laurens had apparently noticed Burr.

"Well! If it ain't the prodigy of Princeton College!"

George saw as Alexander frantically smacked Laurens, and he glared at the shorter man before realizing George was there.

There was complete silence in the tent. Burr was looking at him uncertainly along with the rest of the men.

George didn't know what to say- he didn't have a drink, and the silence was deafening compared to the noise earlier. It seemed to go on forever with everyone staring at him until-

"A TOAST!" Alexander shouted drunkenly. His voice cracked. Apparently drunk Alexander couldn't keep his mouth shut either. "TO HIS EXCELLENCY!"

And then the silence was gone, replaced with cheers for the General as people repeated Alexander's words. Burr himself grinned and drank, then hailed someone and George found he suddenly had a drink for himself.

 _Why not?_ He thought, then clinked with Burr and drank.

He didn't drink enough to get drunk like the rest of them, and when the night was over with about fifty of his soldiers sleeping in their chairs, he dragged out Alexander back to his tent. He was still very sober.

"Heyyyy," Alexander said, laughing. He was still so drunk he didn't realize who he was talking to. "'S a... 'S a- a nose." He booped George, who had been carrying him as he was too drunk to walk, on the nose. George was so surprised he almost dropped him. Alexander was laughing his head off.

He walked inside his tent and set Alexander down on the bed.

"Son, you're going to have a bad headache in the morning," George said, busying himself making tea.

"Your son?" Alexander asked, curiously. It was different from the other times George had called him son. There was no bitter contempt and no anger towards George in his usual _don't call me son._

"If you'd like," George said calmly. Did Alexander really feel that way? Did he hide it every time because he was in front of his commander?

"Don't..." Alexander yawned, and in the moment of silence, George feared he would say those words again, those words that be ok his heart.

"Don't have a real father," Alexander finished. George nearly dropped the tea. He'd known Alexander's mother had died, but the boy was so reclusive when it came to his family and where he'd come from.

George didn't say anything and set about trying to sit Alexander up so he could drink the tea when it was ready. He wasn't cooperating very much.

"Dead, see?" He asked, and clumsily tried to move himself out of the way for George, assuming he wanted the bed for himself. "'M sorry, s-sir, your Elxently-"

George ignored the mispronounced 'Your Excellency' and held Alexander still. "You need to sit up, Alexander."

"Oh," Alexander said. "Kay." He raised his arms and motioned for George to pick him up.

Being 5'7", it wouldn't have been hard for George to pick him up at 6'3" himself, but the way Alexander was doing it was strange.

"C'mon," he whined. George relented and picked up Alexander by under the arms and moved him up the bed. He was surprised- Alexander was lighter than he should have been. Had he been skipping meals?

"Son, when was the last time you ate something?" George asked, retrieving the tea.

"Dunno," Alexander said.

"Hamilton," George warned.

Alexander picked at the sheets. "Prolly... threedaysago." He'd said it so fast George almost missed it. Alexander hiccuped and continued.

"'T was the last food, three days 'go," he continued. "Let everyone else... eat. Gave my food to him- His Excellency," Alexander said. He drank the tea, spilling a minimal amount but George didn't care.

"You said you'd eaten, Alexander," George said. "You have me your food, when you came in with that plate?"

"Mmhmm," Alexander said proudly. "Gave my food to His Excellency," he said, then the smile dropped off his face. "B'cause... I don' need it."

"You need it more than me," George said. Martha kept saying he needed to lose some weight, anyway.

"Nah," he said. "N'body cares 'bout a bastard orphan like meeee." He sneezed.

"I care," George said softly. He took off Alexander's shoes and gently pulled back the blankets and Alexander slid underneath them.

"That's what Pa said," Alexander said, wiggling his toes underneath the blanket. "N'body cares, not 'bout me."

"Your dad was wrong," George said, trying to get a fidgety Alexander out of his jacket. "I care about you, Alexander."

"Aaaaannnyywaaayy," Alexander drawled out the word far longer than it should have. "Gave the food to His Excellency, sir, and- and..."

His brow furrowed. "Er- His Excellency's wife? I- not sure, but she visits sometimes. Talls to me, tells me I need m're food." He laughed and hiccuped. "I tell'er... Tell'er I will but I don', really, not at all, but-"

His grin once more fell off his face, and he looked into his tea, worried. George had finally gotten the jacket off and hung it on a peg next to his.

"But what?" George asked. He had been aware of Martha being worried about Alexander's health in general, but he hadn't been aware it was this bad.

"But... uh, don'... Don't tell'm. H-his Excellency, don' tell'm I... I don't eat, and s'mtimes I get sick, but John is always there to make me be quiet, 'nd I... m'work is so much more impor'nt f-for His Excellency, and s'mtimes I d'nt think His Excellency notices, but 's okay, 'cause I got here and the others toll me I can'... can' be a, um, a burden, yeah, to His Excellency."

Alexander yawned again, and George was stricken into silence. _That's not how he wanted this to work._

"But- uh, don'... tell 'm- H-his Excellency, I mean, anythin' else is d'srepect- I've been lyin' to Her Excellency, cause I don't wanna... Don't wanna be 'n trouble, don' want 'm-"

Alexander sighed and beat himself on the head with the palm of his hand. George pulled it away and kept it in his hold.

"Don't want him to what, Alexander?" He whispered. He was afraid of the answer.

Alexander shook his head. "'M bad... keep... keep using th' wrong title fr His Excellency."

"He wouldn't mind," George said. "What is it, Alexander?" It was by this time he noticed the tears rolling down Alex's face.

"Don't wan' him to... to get mad at me, but 's okay 'cause n'body cares, 'nd n'body will see 'f they don't wanna, they won't see th' marks. 'Specially if H-His Excellency- if His Excellency says... ignore th' marks. N'body can d'sobey His Excellency."

He stopped, sobbing. George's heart broke for the boy. He'd tried not to be imposing, but he was the General and he wasn't supposed to care about Alexander like he did. He wasn't the boy's father, although sometimes he realized he wanted to be. Everything was all wrong.

 _Not you,_ he thought. _Not my son, this isn't happening. I won't treat him like he used to be by his other father._

For about fifteen minutes Alexander sobbed into George, who was sitting on the floor by the bed Alexander was in. He caught some broken sentences Alexander muttered, most of them in French.

 _"Je suis-_ _Je suis mauvais, il ne m'aime pas, je ne suis pas son fils, je ne serai jamais..."_

George didn't know French, so he didn't know what Alexander was saying. Martha had tried to teach him once but all he'd gotten to memorize were the numbers.

"Hush, Alexander," he said soothingly. "Shh. Count with me, okay? _Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf."_

Alexander's breathing was slightly less frantic now, and George could feel the breaths taken in and pushed out to count. If he listened closely, Alexander sang them in a sort of tune.

 _"Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf, u_ _n deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf,"_ were the small words. George sang along in the same tune Alexander was using, and eventually Alexander cried himself to sleep, and George pulled the covers up around him. He made to move to his chair to sleep, but Alexander's hand didn't let go.

"You want me to stay here? Alright, then, son. I'll stay."

George kept singing the numbers, trying to keep Alexander from waking, and eventually he fell asleep too.

He woke to a very pain-filled groan. The hand that hadn't left his snaked out of his grip, and George looked up to see Alexander pressing his hand to his head.

"Son of a _bitch,"_ Alexander said. He still hadn't noticed George, and the General mused that he should pretend to still be asleep. Silently he sank onto the floor and hid his face where Alexander couldn't see him laughing.

"Where- why is it...? I'm not in the bunks," Alexander said. George heard him swing his feet over the edge of the bed, and he could only imagine the look on Alexander's face as he saw George.

There was silence for a moment, then a tentative, "Sir?"

George decided not to move.

"Uh, s-sir?" Alexander said softly. George felt Alexander prod him gently and continued to sleep.

"Um..." Alexander said. "Okay." He felt Alexander get up and step around him cautiously.

"I know you're sleeping, sir, but I don't exactly know what I'm doing here," Alexander whispered exasperatedly. George almost laughed out loud.

"Do I...? Do I leave?" He heard Alexander ponder to himself. A few minutes later, he heard the scratch of quill on paper, and decided that Alexander had thought it would have been wise to stay and busy himself with work waiting for George to wake.

Against his will, he fell asleep again to the sounds of Alex's quill and the quiet hum of _un deux trois_ from Alexander.

He woke again to a loud clatter and a loud voice saying, "Shit! Shit shit shit-"

"Alexander?" George grunted, sleep still trying to call to him. He sleepily sat himself up and was greeted with the sight of Alexander comically holding an inkwell by the tips of his fingers. His arms were covered in ink.

"Uh," he said.

On a whim, George decided to pretend he didn't know anything about last night. "What are you doing, Hamilton?"

"I... Uh... well you see- I-" he set the inkwell down and snapped to attention, saluting. "I'm not exactly sure, Your Excellency."

George stood, but he didn't dismiss Alexander. "Why was I on the floor, Hamilton?"

"I- I don't know, Your Excellency," Alexadner said truthfully. George could see his eyes nervously sticking to one spot, most likely the roof of the tent.

George sighed, pretending to be angry. "And when did you get here, Hamilton?"

Now, his eyes were flicking around nervously. "I- I looked at the clock, Your Excellency, and it was about six o'clock, sir."

George looked at the clock- ten fifteen. He'd slept for four more hours.

"Dismissed," he said irritably, waving a hand at Hamilton. He wondered what the boy was thinking.

Alexander lowered his hand and wrung his hands nervously. George was set about making the bed.

"Uh... s-sir? Your Excellency?"

"What is it, Hamilton," he snapped.

"I... I fervently apologize for my earlier actions in waking you up, sir," he said. "It was inconsiderate on my part as you were sleeping and I spilled the inkwell and woke you, sir." He bowed his head.

"It was an accident, Hamilton," George said. "I don't blame you for that."

Alexander's head snapped up, shock written on his face. He kept his voice calm, though. "Oh," he said. "T-thank you, Your Excellency. I didn't..."

His voice got quiet and he trailed off. George turned to look at him.

"You didn't what?"

Alexander took a breath. "I didn't exactly tell the truth, sir. Y-Your Excellency, I mean."

George knew that sometimes he could look scary, and this was one of those times that he employed it. Ever since Hamilton had said last night what he thought George might do if he stepped out of line, George wanted to see how Hamilton would react if he was mad. So far, everything Alexander had confessed to was true.

"And what," George said, knowing he looked very imposing at the time, "Does that mean, Hamilton?"

Alexander swallowed and avoided looking at his general. He was pale. "Well, sir," he began. George went over to the desk Hamilton was standing behind and crossed his arms, looking at Alexander intensely.

"I didn't exactly... come in from the bunks, sir," he said. His hands were behind his back now. "I... I woke, in your bed, sir." He studied the floor.

George stayed silent. After a moment, Alexander spoke again.

"You, sir, were sleeping on the floor and I didn't know why, sir, and so I just stayed here and started working, sir, and I don't know why you're m-mad, sir, but I apologize for whatever I've done, sir."

 _He doesn't ever put that many 'sir's in one sentence,_ George thought. _He's afraid._

George moved his hands in front of him, and he didn't miss Alexander's flinch.

"No," George said. It was over. All this was over. "Alexander, son, I'm not mad."

"Don't call me son," Alexander said.

"My son," George said.

Alexander looked at him, head snapping up. His eyes were filled with confusion and defiance.

"Don't call me son," he said. It was weaker this time.

"You've had a hard life, Alexander," George said. "I know. Your father is dead, as is your mother, yes?"

And now he was _angry._ George had never seen that kind of anger in anyone's eyes.

"How did you know?!" He demanded, crossing the room and staring fiercely into Washington's eyes. "Tell me! How did you know?!"

George wasn't intimidated by Alexander's abnormally small 5'7" frame. "You told me, Alexander," he said softly.

"I- what?"

"Last night," he explained. "You said many things, Hamilton. You were stone drunk."

"No I wasn't," he denied, now looking like a cornered animal. "I wasn't. You're lying."

"You said lots of things, Alexander," George said. "All I have to say, Alexander, is that I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"No," Hamilton said, whispering it. "No, no."

George took a breath.

 _"Un deux trois,"_ he began. _"Quatre cinq six sept_ _huit neuf."_ He sang it in the same tone he had last night. Over and over, until Alexander sang with him.

"Better now?" George asked after Alex had calmed down considerably.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean- yes, sir."

"Alexander, you don't have to call me that right now," he said. "Relax."

"Can... can I?" Alexander trailed off.

"Can you what?" George asked gently.

"Can I talk... about last night?"

"If you're comfortable," George said.

Alexander sighed and began his long speech.

By the time he was finished, he had a new father- one who would always be there for him.


End file.
